


For the World is Hollow

by starfleetdicks



Series: McSpirkHolidayFest Prompt Fills [13]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Consensual Violence, Established Relationship, M/M, Mirror Universe, Non-Explicit, Pre-Reform Vulcan, Sexual Slavery, Vulcan Empire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 12:14:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15818670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starfleetdicks/pseuds/starfleetdicks
Summary: Tiberius kissed the space under Horatio’s ear. Nosed just under the brown wisps of hair curling at the nape of his neck, unchecked. Gentle as the winter sun. Sweet as the pale fruit growing in the Forge’s singular oasis.A pre-reform Spock prompt fill for mcspirkholidayfest's McSpirk Day event on tumblr.





	For the World is Hollow

**Author's Note:**

> Written for mcspirkholidayfest prompt by anonymous: _Pre-reform Spock, preferably fierce, possessed of long raven-black hair, and demonstrating lusty appreciation for the two hapless humans he's captured somehow._
> 
> This work is a prequel vignette to the Vulcan Empire Prince Spock and his Terran pets seen in my other work Taste Like Copper. It is not necessary to read that work prior to this one.

Today was no ordinary day. 

When the handmaidens woke him, far earlier than usual, Prince Spock did not respond by taking their throats in hand as he normally would. He rose silent from his bed. His house pets slept on the floor, tangled together. For once, he could spare them the early morning. They needed their rest. No doubt they had fallen into an exhausted sleep after their copious bouts of mating last night. 

Spock stepped over them, careful not to tread on their plush bedding. 

I-Chaya raised his head as Spock and the handmaidens filed past the large sehlat into the huge marbled bathroom. It was blissfully cool were hardly no other room would be, this early in the morning. Vulcan’s heat spared nothing with its touch. Even the bathroom would grow warm and humid in the next few hours. 

Spock did not luxuriate in the bath. As always, he kept each hygiene task short, efficient. Only the braiding of his hair was slow and methodical. The handmaidens truly had been chosen for this task. They did not bathe or dress him. To take care of a royal’s hair was a great honor and hard work. More retainers, house slaves, and handmaidens than Spock cared to count had disappointed him and been slaughtered for their failure. These two, so far, had been acceptable. They had been a fortnight in his household. Spock hadn’t bothered with their names. Today was not the day for it either. 

They braided his hair in silence, forbidden to speak to royalty beyond nods and headshakes. 

The summer before Spock conquered Terra and turned his father over for falling under the influence of his Terran pet, his hair had only reached his mid-back and his bangs had been blunt cut across his forehead. It had been three years since that fateful time. Now his hair ran like a waterfall down the entire length of his back to the tops of his thighs. His bangs too had grown out, uneven and stylishly arranged to frame his face. It was the privilege he was afforded as ruler to display his superiority. Only great warrior Vulcans in his personal guards came close to his length of hair. At all times, warriors wore their hair in tight braids or buns piled high on their head. No matter their battle prestige, it was forbidden to wear hair at a length longer than the current ruler. 

Far too soon, for Spock was beginning to relax by degrees, the women stepped back. They clasped their hands firmly behind their backs and knelt on the floor. They bared the napes of their necks and waited. A repetitious ending to their daily task. 

Spock stood, leaning toward the vanity to inspect his braids. His hair was still largely undone to accentuate the length but thick braids were interspersed throughout. Golden clasps capped each end. Other gold baubles and jewels had been tied in as well. He hummed and deemed the work acceptable. He waved them off. Both left, unhurried now that there work had been meant with approval. Make-up took far less time and Spock preferred to do it himself. Creamy gold eyeshadow, a shade matching the decorations in his hair. He lined his eyes with thick kohl, creating sharp wings to match the tilt of his eyebrows. The polish on his pointed nails was still unchipped and he found a black lipstick to match. 

Every detail was seen to. Spock intended to look perfect for today. 

“Special occasion, Sa-elki?” 

Spock glanced at his pet lounging boldly in the doorframe of the bathroom. He kept his eyes on the slim Terran as Spock slowly put away each container of make-up. It served as reminder enough. 

His pet cleared his throat, drawling in that curious accent of his, “Good mornin’, Sa-elki.” 

“Good morning, Horatio. Have you left Tiberius alone in bed?” 

“No. One of the servants woke us. He’s gettin' your breakfast in order.”

“I hope he remembers to make the servant taste it.” Spock turned finally, leaning against the vanity. He raised a hand to beckon Horatio. “You still have not greeted me in the manner that I am accustomed to. Are you intent on receiving punishment today? I believe your back is still swollen from your last bout.”

Horatio blushed red down his chest. Spock tracked the flush, fascinating with the oddities of Terran anatomy. “No, my prince.” He hurried closer, far less graceful than the handmaidens, and had to stretch to reach Spock’s lips. When he moved to kiss Spock’s hands as well, Spock stopped him with a soft hum. “First you complain I didn’t do it right, now you won’t let me,” Horatio grumbled, nuzzling closer and throwing his arms around Spock’s neck instead. “You look good as sin today. Plannin’ to let other pointy-eared devils drool over you? Make Tiberius jealous? You know how he hates the way they look at you.” Horatio dropped his voice low, whispering near one of Spock’s sensitive ears. 

Spock chuckled. He counted each vertebra as he spread his hands down Horatio’s back, digging his nails in sharply at the base of the spine. It earned him nothing but a sharp moan. His pet squirmed in his grasp. The fragile skin was still recovering from his last whipping. Several swollen welts, still tender and lingering. Horatio did not complain, never did. Spock wondered sometimes if he liked the punishment and the pain it left behind. “No, not to make Tiberius jealous. He does well enough constructing his jealousies from thin air. Today, I intend to claim you both as mine.”

“You already gave us the bond.” 

“Yes, but that is only for me, is it not? Only I can feel you, see my claim in your minds. Better to mark you so there is no question.” Spock pushed Horatio away to touch the center of the Terran’s chest. “Right here. Always tainted by my touch, stained by it. Mine and mine alone.” He growled and bit at the meat of Horatio’s shoulder until Horatio shuddered and pawed helplessly at him, hissing. 

As if called by Horatio’s pain, Tiberius wandered into the bathroom. Radiant in the morning light. His hair shone like spun gold. Unperturbed, he smiled brightly at Spock over Horatio’s shoulder. “Starting early?” 

Horatio could give him no response but a soft, pained whine. 

Spock loved the taste of him, sharp and rusty. Unlike a Vulcan in every way. 

Tiberius put his hands on Horatio’s hips to steady himself and kissed the corner of Spock’s still engaged mouth. “Good morning, Sa-elki. My prince.” Tiberius had always taken to the rules better than Horatio. 

Something that had not been true before the bond had broken them both. 

Spock tightened his jaw for just a moment longer to feel Horatio jerk beneath him again before letting go to catch Tiberius’ lips in an harsh kiss. They collided as mostly teeth, Spock snarling. 

Tiberius bore it, laughing and dodging him when it became too much. “You know, you keep biting Horatio. Aren’t I worthy of a good chomping?” 

Horatio grumbled between them. 

“More than worthy,” Spock conceded, dragging his nails up Horatio’s back. Tiberius’ eyes dropped immediately, watching the slow progress. Terrans were so very interesting. Their pupils dilated delightfully with arousal. “Horatio demands curtailing.”

“I could be more rebellious?” Tiberius batted his eyelashes at Spock and pressed himself tightly against Horatio’s back, grinding his hips against his companion pet casually. 

“Jim,” Horatio whispered, moaning again.

Tiberius kissed the space under Horatio’s ear. Nosed just under the brown wisps of hair curling at the nape of his neck, unchecked. Gentle as the winter sun. Sweet as the pale fruit growing in the Forge’s singular oasis. He murmured back, “Bones.” Their Terran nicknames for one another like an invisible caress. 

Spock inhaled sharply, taking in the scent of their swiftly rising arousal. It was tempting, tempting indeed. “Perhaps later, you can try at playing rebel. Today I will have you marked.” He reached up to cup Tiberius’ face, grazing his meld points. It took nothing to send him the same words he had said aloud to Horatio, to paint him the image of their matched tattoos over his weak Terran mind. 

“Oh,” Tiberius sighed, rutting against Horatio again. “Yea, I want.” 

Horatio looked stricken. “What?”

Spock retreated from Tiberius’ meld points, repressing the very Terran urge to roll his eyes. His pets were endlessly hungry for affection and jealous lovers, even with each other. Spock could hardly criticize them for it. He too was a jealous lover. His love could not be known, however. To love his sun and moon would be to invite death upon them and himself. Surely that was a curse from his father. Their line seemed doomed to fall for Terrans. Instead of kisses, Spock drowned them in bruises and bites. Scars and now tattoos. Disguised his love the only way he knew how. 

“Go and dress. The marking will take time to be drawn into your skin. Eat my breakfast for me. You both will need the energy. There will be much blood spilled. I do not intend to let a single drop go to waste.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sa-elki = Prince.


End file.
